


Are things really gettin' better?

by iwillnotbecaged



Series: Flying high without ever leaving the ground [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Sam-Centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillnotbecaged/pseuds/iwillnotbecaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone thinks Sam is the patient and understanding one in this relationship. Sometimes he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Are things really gettin' better?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place sometime after "A New Beginning", but can probably stand alone. Please let me know if there's something else I should tag or if you catch a typo or anything at all.
> 
> Thanks again to the extravaganza squad for all the support and advice as I figure out how to do this fic thing. Y'all are the best!
> 
> Title from Marvin Gaye's "What's Happening Brother"

Sam wakes up abruptly, chest heaving and cold sweat breaking out on his skin. It’s times like these he’s glad Steve likes to sleep in the middle - being on the outside means there’s less of a chance of disturbing anyone when a nightmare wakes him up.

The nightmares aren’t as frequent anymore, thankfully. Of the three of them, he has the fewest. Bucky’s are the worst, but he was a bit surprised to realize just how often Steve still suffers through them. Getting Steve to actually acknowledge how often they were occurring and start to maybe consider doing something about it was no small feat, either.

But as infrequent as they may be, Sam’s aren’t gone completely. He knows they likely never will be; he’s long past waiting for that magical day in the future when he is “fixed”. That’s just not how things work. This one wasn’t anything particularly disturbing, but he still feels that restless itch under his skin and the churning of emotions in his gut.

He glances at the clock and decides that 4:30am isn’t as bad as it could be. A run will probably clear his head more effectively than attempting to get back sleep. He doesn’t want to deal with having to pay attention to his surroundings and being on his guard in the city, though, so he leaves a note, grabs a water bottle, and heads for the small gym in the basement of the apartment building.

An hour and a half later, his mind is clearer and the exhaustion in his muscles makes him feel more grounded, more present. By this time Steve is probably awake, although whether Bucky got up with him is a toss up. Sometimes Bucky wants to spend the morning with them and all he needs is a cup of coffee, but there are those days where trying to get him out from under the covers before 10:00 just results in snarling and glaring.

Sam’s glad that at least one of his boyfriends is an early riser; he’s looking forward to having a comforting presence in the apartment after the rough night. Steve will have noticed his absence and is probably a bit worried about him at this point, even with the note on the counter. He heads up the stairs, already thinking about how nice it will be to spend a few minutes wrapped in those strong arms with the smell of coffee and bacon in the kitchen. He opens the door and smiles when he sees the light on in the kitchen. The “good morning” dies on his lips though as he walks in and finds that not only is Bucky already up as well, but he and Steve have managed to already start bickering.

“For fuck’s sake, Steve! The dishwasher is right there! Is it really that hard to put the dishes in it instead of leaving them in the sink?”

“Well, gosh, I don’t know.” Sam could practically see the sarcasm dripping off of Steve. “You didn’t seem too concerned about what I did with the dishes while I was sucking your dick last night.”

“Really? Really? If I had known you had just left them in the sink, I wouldn’t have let you anywhere near my dick. At this point, I would give up blowjobs for a month if you would just wash a fucking dish!”

Steve scoffed at that. “Yeah sure, Bucky. I’ll believe that when I see it. Sam, would you tell this guy he’s overreacting?”

“Bullshit. Sam knows as well as I do that you’re a damn slob. He’s just as annoyed by it as I am!”

Sam slams the water bottle onto the counter. “Fuck you, Bucky. Don’t drag me into this and don’t ever presume to speak for me again,” he snarls through clenched teeth. “The shit I do for you two—not everything is about you.” Sam digs his nails into his palms but can’t halt the flood of words now that it’s started.

“Some people in this apartment who aren’t completely fucked in the head would enjoy a day without one of you picking a fight. How the hell you two managed to stay friends this long, much less maintain a relationship, beats me. Sometimes I don’t even know why I stay with you assholes. Pull your shit together!”

Sam doesn’t give them a chance to respond; he just storms off in the direction of the bathroom without a backwards glance. Whatever they have to say, he doesn’t want to hear it.

The shower defuses some of his anger, but he doesn’t feel ready to deal with the fallout of his outburst just yet. Thankfully, Sarah’s available for breakfast, even if she does give him shit for waking her up so early.

“Come on, sis. Early bird gets the worm!”

“You’re the bird in this family, Samuel. Or so all the merchandise plastered with ‘the Falcon’ tells me.” Sam can hear the air quotes even over the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, you think my superhero name is weak; we’ve had that conversation. You up for breakfast or what?”

“Sure, little brother. Meet you at the usual place?”

“Sounds good.”

Sam makes it out of the apartment without saying anything to Steve or Bucky, or even making eye contact. He thinks that maybe he should feel bad about that, but the anger is still too prevalent for him to really feel it.

Sarah greets him at the restaurant with a big hug, but holds off on any questions until they’re at the table.

“You want to talk about what has you calling me at the asscrack of dawn?”

Sam ducks his head, fiddling with his napkin. “Not particularly.”

“Okay. You want to hear the story about the misogynist asshole on the subway or the one about the racist asshole at work?”

Sam looks up in surprise. “Okay? You’re not gonna badger me until I talk?” 

“You’re a big boy, Sam. I trust you to know what you need, whether that’s someone to vent to, brilliant advice, or just a distraction.”

“You do have brilliant advice,” Sam says.

“I know.” Sarah grins proudly as the waitress approaches the table. After the waitress takes their order, Sarah’s smile shifts to something a bit more sympathetic. “You seem to be more in distraction mode than advice mode today though, so which story do you want?”

Sam leans back in his chair. “Hit me with the misogynist asshole on the subway. You know I count on you to help me stay educated on the plight of the modern black woman.”

“That’s exactly right, little brother.” Sarah launches into her story and Sam lets himself be distracted. He may have been teasing her a little, but he really does appreciate her perspective on things. Plus it’s nice to spend some time considering the problems in the world that don’t involve fascist shadow governments and formerly brainwashed assassins and aliens and all the rest of the ridiculousness his life includes now. Talking to Sarah has always kept him grounded in the here and now, and the recent changes in his life haven’t shaken that in the least.

The conversation meanders throughout the meal and Sam gets to hear the story about the racist coworker too. He’s glad he does because his sister is a fantastic storyteller and hearing her describe the guy’s face when she basically handed his ass to him is hilarious. It’s only as they’re wrapping things up that he remembers the situation he still needs to deal with back at home.

Sarah looks at him and grabs his hand out on the sidewalk. “Whatever’s going on with those idiot white boys of yours, you know I’ve got your back right?”

“Yeah, I know. And they’re really not that bad, they’re just…”

“Idiot white boys?” Sam gives her a look. “Hey, you called them that first,” Sarah says, hands in the air as if to fend off Sam’s response.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. But really, this was more about me. Maybe. I don’t know.” Sam scuffs his heel against the sidewalk and looks up at her from under his brow. “I might have done that thing where I act like everything’s fine even though shit’s bothering me. It just seems like such petty stuff compared to everything else; I didn’t want to bring it up. And then there was just that last straw that set me off.”

“You? Bottling up your feelings out of concern for others? I never would have guessed,” Sarah says, arms crossed in front of her. She’s giving him that look, the one that says “I’m your big sister and I know you, you giant dope.”

“Alright, okay, I’m predictable. I know.”

Sarah steps in to give him a hug. “You’re a good guy, Sam. Now get yourself home and fix whatever it is you think you need to fix. And don’t forget that that includes telling those boys of yours if there’s something you need them to fix.”

Sam squeezes her tight and says, “Yes, ma’am.” Sarah smacks him for that and they both head off to their respective subway stops.

 

Sam opens the door and walks into a quiet apartment. “Steve got called in,” Bucky says from his spot on the couch, closing his book and setting it to the side. “Nothing dangerous - just some leftover paperwork from the thing in Cartagena. He didn’t want to go, but Hill did that thing where she’s terrifying.”

“Yeah, I know that thing,” Sam says softly. Maria Hill is not a woman to be trifled with. “Um, about earlier...I -”

“Don’t even go there, Sam. We were being dicks.” Bucky shifts over on the couch, making it clear that Sam is welcome to come sit with him if he wants. Sam decides that he does want.

“Yeah, you were, but not any more than usual. It doesn’t mean it’s okay for me to blow up like that.” Sam rubs his hand on the back of his neck, trying to loosen some of the tension that’s still left over from when he first woke up.

“Well, you were up pretty early, pal. I take it you had a bad night?”

Sam shrugs, looking down at his hands. “I’ve had worse. You and Steve have both had a lot worse.”

“You’re allowed to not be okay, you know?” Bucky’s arm goes to the back of the couch and his fingers stroke the back of Sam’s neck. Sam doesn’t look up, but he feels a bit of that tension begin to leak out of him. 

“God knows Steve and I have had our share of not-okay days. We don’t… I mean, I know a lot of people think you’ve got it all together and you’ve earned that reputation by actually having a lot of your shit together, and that’s a good thing. A really good thing.” 

Sam’s raises his eyes and takes in the earnest look on Bucky’s face. Bucky’s not usually one for heart-felt conversations, but he isn’t shying away from this one. That alone helps to ease the knot of residual anger in Sam’s stomach. 

“We don’t want to take away from that,” Bucky continues, “and I know that we can get wrapped up in our own mess sometimes, but we also want you to, well, to be you. We’re not gonna chuck you out of the apartment the first time you’re the one who needs a bit of help. We love you, Sam, and not just because you’re smarter than the two of us combined.”

Sam huffs a small laugh. “Well, I am that.” And while he knows that he’s not actually the third wheel in this relationship and that Steve and Bucky aren’t going to just set him aside somewhere down the line, hearing Bucky say it melts the last of the doubt and worry that sparked his anger in the first place.

“Without a doubt,” Bucky chuckles. “I spent a hefty portion of my life looking out for Steve. I’m sorry I haven’t done as good of a job looking out for you too.”

Sam lets himself tip over on the couch so that he’s leaning against Bucky, Bucky’s arm coming down from the back of the couch to squeeze his shoulder.

“You’re doing a pretty good job of looking out for me right now.” He tilts his head up to look at Bucky, doing his best to communicate his gratitude with a look. Bucky sees it and drops a kiss on his forehead.

“Excellent. Anything else I can do?” Bucky squeezes his shoulder again and runs his hand soothingly up and down Sam’s arm.

Sam grins up at him. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to some cuddling and a nap. Not here though - this couch isn’t big enough for both of us.”

Bucky nudges him over and then offers his hand to help him up. “You’re not wrong. With as big as the three of us are, we really should invest in a better couch.”

Sam wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist as they head to the bedroom. “We just have to find a way to drop it into conversation next time we’re around Stark. He loves to buy us shit. There’ll probably be one in the apartment by the time we get home.” 

“Brilliant, Sam. That’s the kind of thing I’m talkin’ about when I say you’re the brains of this operation.” Bucky pulls back the comforter and shuffles Sam into the bed, climbing in behind him.

“Well, I’m glad I’m good for something,” Sam says, snuggling back into Bucky’s arms.

Sam drifts off then, but not before Bucky lays a soft kiss on the nape of his neck and whispers, “You’re good for a lot more than that.”


End file.
